


Queen of Chalices

by NightjarPatronus



Series: The Arcana Quartet [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sense8 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, BPO Still Exists, Bullying, Claustrophobia, Depression, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Family, Flashbacks, Friendship, Gen, Homophobia, Magical Sensates Exist, Mental Health Issues, Misgendering, POV Multiple, PTSD, Past Character Death, Physical Abuse, Racism, Sense8 Hogwarts AU, Suicidal Thoughts, The Arcana Quartet, Transphobia, backstories, deadnaming
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-03-16
Packaged: 2019-10-30 15:06:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17830886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightjarPatronus/pseuds/NightjarPatronus
Summary: 1999. Britain is recovering from the aftermath of the Second Wizarding War, and Hogwarts has reopened for the first time since the Battle. Eight first-years find themselves drawn to each other through fate and folly. A series of disappearances around the nation draw suspicion to the new Hogwarts professors and an elusive man who phases between the muggle and magical worlds. As old memories resurface, connections between the children’s past and present come to light, unraveling into secrets linked to an inexplicable source. Danger still lurks in every corner as a new generation takes center stage.





	1. The Start of a New Age, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kala nearly burns down Ollivander's. Riley wants the pain to stop. Sun teaches herself mildly dangerous spells. Capheus worries about his family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again to old readers! Welcome, for those of you who haven't read my works before :)
> 
> I thought of some headcanons about the Sense8 characters in the shower one summer evening in July, 2017, and I thought I'd expand on them for fun. Over time they've multiplied and dragged on and on until they gradually consumed my waking moments. So here I am now with a series planned for just them.
> 
>  **Just a few things/disclaimers to note:**  
>  \- There will be four volumes in this series, which take place while these kids are in first, third, fifth, and seventh year (respectively). Expect time jumps between volumes.  
> \- There's no romance in Volume I here. One romantic plot begins at Volume II, the rest in Volumes III or IV.  
> \- Endgames in this story are mostly in adherence to canon, except Kalagang is the endgame for Kala and Wolfgang.  
> \- Nomi hasn't socially transitioned, so for this volume, sections from her own point of view uses she/her pronouns, but she'll be misgendered and deadnamed in other POVs until she comes out to those friends. She'll be out to all of Hogwarts in third year.
> 
> Enjoy!

**7 August, 1999**

HOGWARTS BACK ON TRACK: 1999 “THE START OF A NEW AGE” SAYS HEADMISTRESS McGONAGALL

One year after the devastation of the Second Wizarding War, and less than three weeks before start of term, the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry announced that it will open its doors once again on the First of September—after a deemed ‘successful’ completion of the school year previous.

This comes as a surprise to most, with a public poll conducted by the Daily Prophet showing a sixty percent ‘NO’ vote to the question, Should Hogwarts School Commence Immediately After The War?. Several testimonials include: “They’d be barking mad to do that to those poor children”, and “Do they even have enough staff to fill those missing positions?”

Much skepticism and criticism is directed against Minerva McGonagall, who is settling comfortably in her role as Headmistress following the late Albus Dumbledore. She, however, insists that continuance of children’s education is imperative to the rebuilding of the Wizarding Nation.

“It’s the start of a new age,” she admonishes in a written statement. “Voldemort’s reign has come to an end. To hide and cower in the wake of these events serve only to continue his legacy of fear and darkness. I am aware change does not happen overnight. But it must begin somewhere, and with education it shall begin.”

This school year will expect the welcoming of over one hundred and forty bright-eyed wizards and witches, ready to embark on a seven-year journey to develop their magic abilities. Delivery of acceptance letters to eligible students via Owl Post or muggle messenger have commenced in the last week of June, and will cut off on the Seventh of August.

~*~

**8 August, 1999**

**_Kala._ **

The red curtain fluttered at the steady ripples pulsing from Kala’s hand. One corner of the curtain lifted, allowing her a peek at the quiet muggle street below. Pedestrians were strolling past without the slightest awareness that magic was happening right above them. Kala flicked her wrist and the curtain flew wide open, letting the sun hit her room at full force, casting beams of light across her mahogany floor.

“Copycat,” Daya muttered. She was standing at the half-open door to Kala’s bedroom, rolling her eyes.

Kala stuck out her tongue and put down the copy of _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ in her free hand. She did steal this trick from her little sister, but it wasn’t like Daya didn’t imitate any of her magic, so this was fair game.

“How long have you been standing there?” Kala asked.

“Long enough.” Daya marched over and, without a warning, grabbed Kala by the hand and mercilessly towed her out of bed. “Now come on.”

Kala followed with a sigh and headed downstairs, knowing that when Daya was adamant, she could never be left in peace. “Did dad make breakfast?”

“Nope.” Daya shook her head dramatically, walking down the steps two at a time. “Mom’s already at the shop. She left a note on the table. She’ll meet us in Flourish and Blott’s at eleven. And dad was still in bed ten minutes ago—”she stopped by the foot of the stairs and added in a conspiratorial whisper—“ _snoring_.”

“We’ll wait for dad,” Kala said, trying to stifle the restless anticipation in her voice. In truth, every part of her wanted to run out of their London townhouse, across Charing Cross Road, and straight through the Leaky Cauldron to Diagon Alley.

It was Kala’s birthday, and she was turning eleven, which was the best age to be before Hogwarts was to reopen in September. She was certain her face read like an open book, even if she tried to sound calm, even if Daya seemed more excited about this Hogwarts shopping trip than she was.

“You’ve never been a good liar, Kala,” Daya teased, confirming what she’d suspected.

Two hours later, all stuffed from dad’s aloo paratha and the chai mom had left on the stove that lit itself when they entered the kitchen, Kala and her sister found themselves in the middle of the restaurant where their dad worked, climbing out of the fireplace in the storage room. They were in a 1926 art deco style building which hadn’t been open for decades. It was ransacked by Death Eaters during the Second Wizarding War, and the old owner, Mr. Bailey, seemed to have vanished. After a few months of half-hearted searching for the presumably dead man, the shop had been claimed by the goblins in Gringott’s before Sebastian Fuchs, a German investor, purchased the old place and refurbished the interior. This building was rumored to be a congregation ground for ghosts from centuries past. Now it was Brimstone Boulevard, a multicultural restaurant in the heart of Diagon Alley, and the enigma of it all seemed to be good for business.

Kala’s dad Sanyam, along with five other head chefs from around the world, collaborated to bring back their old family recipes with the help of their team. The Ministry had approved of this establishment because it was a good show of inclusivity, and the losses of war had found magical Britain in need of international assistance. Well-known cooks were recruited by Ministry scouts from overseas. So in April, Kala and her family found themselves purchasing a townhouse in muggle London, by the border of the magical world that they all drifted comfortably in and out of.

“Kala!” Capheus called, running over to the fireplace. He had flour smeared across his left cheek and what looked like chocolate sauce dripping down his apron, and he beamed at the sight of her family. “Happy birthday!”

“You too, Capheus,” Kala smiled graciously.

“Are we doing happy birthdays?” Their friend Jela peeked his head over from the open door leading to the back kitchen, where the chefs labored away in the midst of the morning rush.

“Your birthday was two months ago!” Kala complained, laughing.

“Ahh.” Jela tutted his tongue. “But I’m still getting a share of your cake tonight, yes?”

“Of course you are,” Capheus said.

They walked through to the back kitchen, where Capheus’ mother was kneading some dough. She waved at them, wiping the sweat off her brows with her forearm. Her shift was ending in an hour. They were meeting at Flourish and Blott’s later along with Jela’s family.

Sanyam gave Shiro a smile and beckoned Kala and Daya forward. They walked through the back kitchen, ducking and weaving between frenzied chefs and waiters and stewards during the morning rush. The sound of spatulas and spoons banging on pots and pans faded into the backdrop of Kala’s mind as she got near the stoves. Kala tucked her hands in the pocket of her jeans, careful not to move in too close. Still, the swooshing fires and sizzling skillets beckoned for a taste of her magic. Her fingers twitched in anticipation. She hurried past, out of range, and slipped out the side door her dad had opened.

Daya followed her out, skipping excitedly as if it was _her_ day to receive presents, as if her own birthday hadn’t already passed in late March right before they moved out of Mumbai. Her dad belted out promises that he’d be back in an hour to help with the lunch rush to his associate head chef, a muggle-born man named Rahul, before closing the door. Rahul couldn’t have been older than Kala’s father. He had joined in the fight at the Battle of Hogwarts and had been awarded the Order of Merlin, Second Class. That was all Kala knew about Rahul in the four months she’d been speaking to him.

Outside the walls of Brimstone Boulevard was a different kind of rush. People meandered around the freshly-paved cobblestone lane, stopping by each storefront to marvel at the new exhibits. It had taken over a year to repair the entire street, and today, Kala could tell a lot of the shoppers were seeing the new Diagon Alley for the first time. It felt like magical Britain was waking up after a long sleep. Like people were still trying to grab onto the bits and pieces of their sweet little dream they had earlier that evening, ignoring the nightmare that followed.

Kala overheard two old women in purple robes lamenting the loss of the old appearance of Flourish and Blott’s. “This new storefront is just _ghastly_ ,” one lady complained to the other, tutting her tongue at the glass-paneled walls that stood like tall windows, exposing both stories of the shop. “Such lovely little green window frames they used to have. Gone. All vanished. _Evanesco_ , just like that.”

It was, of course, a dramatic change. The entire street had been renovated since the war. Even the older shops that stayed from before were repaired from inside out, so much that their old appearances, the ones they were known for before the Death Eaters’ demolition, were nowhere to be seen. Kala read in the Prophet two weeks ago that a lot of the new designs were inspired by muggle architecture around the country. The only place that hadn’t looked too different besides Brimstone Boulevard was Gringott’s, which stood at the very end, towering menacingly over the other buildings with its marble walls.

Along with the two purple-robed ladies, Kala found herself and her dad and sister being towed down the sidewalk by the crowd of pre-Hogwarts shoppers. The hustle-bustle of Diagon Alley, with all the yelling and robe-brushing and toe-stomping, was not unlike the crowdedness of Mumbai that Kala had grown accustomed to. But the weather was too chilly for an early August morning, the sky too dense with gray clouds threatening rain. She pulled up the zipper of her yellow field jacket, wishing her new home wasn’t so different from the one she grew up in.

She missed Mumbai. She didn’t think she would ever stop missing it. But she tried to put aside what she’d left behind and focus on the one thing she had been anticipating since her whole family had relocated to London four months ago: her very own wand.

The boy in front of Kala in line at Ollivander’s was a head shorter than her. He looked excitedly around the shop, bouncing on the balls of his feet. He was talking in rapid Spanish to his parents, who were dressed in muggle clothes and frozen to the spot, warily tracking the way the boxes of wands flew on and off the shelves with their eyes. The boy’s glasses slid from his face twice—they were clearly meant for someone much bigger—but he nudged them back on without bother, crinkling his nose each time.

When it was his turn, he’d asked to pick the box from the shelf. Somehow, he had a very clear idea of what he was looking for, and Mr. Ollivander slid his ladder over and retrieved an ornate black box with silver words in Latin engraved across the top.

The tip of the wand glowed a bright blue when he waved it.

“Hmm,” Mr. Ollivander said, bending down to get a better look at the boy’s face. “Remarkable. And interesting. Very interesting.”

“Thank you,” the boy said. “I’m Hernando. It’s nice to meet you.”

Within two minutes Hernando was out the door, now a proud owner of a silver lime wand with a phoenix feather core. Mr. Ollivander was eyeing Hernando with a look of intrigue as he and his parents left the shop. Kala wondered if she’d see Hernando at Hogwarts. Her friend Jela had filled her in on all the houses the school had, and maybe she and Hernando would end up sharing the same common room.

Kala stepped forward and waited, not wanting to interrupt Mr. Ollivander’s thoughts.

“Ahh. Excuse me,” Mr. Ollivander turned to her after a full minute of staring at his door. “Hello. Welcome to Ollivander’s.”

Not everyone, it turned out, had quite as sharp an instinct as Hernando when it came to finding a match. The first wand (“blackthorn, dragon heartstring”) Kala tried would have blown up Mr. Ollivander’s bookshelf if not for a well-timed _Aguamenti_. The second one (“black walnut, unicorn tail hair”) melted the wax on the candelabras over their head and dimmed the whole room before a _Reparo_ restored everything. And the third shot endless sparks from the tip the moment Kala’s finger grazed across the fine, polished rowan wood. Kala hovered her free hand quickly over the wand to put the sparks out before they could catch the hem of her shirt and burn it.

“I’m sorry!” She looked up sheepishly, feeling her cheeks warm. “I don’t know what’s gotten into my—my magic.”

“You’re _always_ burning things, Kala,” Daya chimed in, not bothering to hide her giggle.

Mr. Ollivander, to Kala’s surprise, was beaming. “Wandless magic, my dear?” The curiosity was clear in his voice.

“It’s the only type I can learn at home,” Kala said, breathing a sigh of relief. It would have killed her if Mr. Ollivander were mad. “I’ve… I’ve had eleven years to perfect it.”

Mr. Ollivander shook his head. “We all had eleven years to make something of our innate magical power, Kala. To channel it. Control it. But few of us do.” He turned to Sanyam. “You’ve taught her well.”

Sanyam put a hand on Kala’s shoulder. “She taught herself. So did my youngest,” he added, exchanging a smile with Daya.

While Mr. Ollivander scoured the shelves for another potential match, Daya made a show of putting the other wands back. She lowered herself, and, with one quick upwards motion of her hand, the three boxes were lifted from the ground. They hovered in the air, waiting for Daya’s command. Daya jerked her head in the direction of the shelf with the empty slots, and in they went.

“Show off.” Kala rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t hide her smile.

Every magical child had the same degree of magical strength upon birth, but Kala’s mom had told her it was their temperament that determined where their talents lie. Daya was inclined to motion, and Kala was inclined to fire. Sanyam had called Kala his little pyromaniac, but she had never accepted the title. Fire was the thing dark magicians in India used to summon demons. And Kala? Kala could never imagine herself approaching evil, let alone cast something that sinister.

“I think I’ve found the perfect wand for you.”

Mr. Ollivander’s voice brought Kala out of her reverie. She turned and saw him holding a blue velvet box with a silver bowtie.

“Go on.”

Kala could already feel the power coursing through the wand as she undid the bow on the box. The wand tingled when she opened the lid and ran her hand across the wand. The wand’s wood was a handsome mix of orange and dark brown, the streaky pattern twisting and forming into spirals at the handle. When she picked it up, she was surprised to discover the wand was warm, like it had already grown accustomed to her hand.

“Well?” Mr. Ollivander encouraged, “Give it a wave.”

She pointed at the oil lamp on Mr. Ollivander’s desk. Before she could remember she was supposed to stay away from anything that burned, the fire had already answered her call. She tried to shout out a warning, but the words died in her throat.

The flame didn’t jump and rise and shatter the glass around it. It grew brighter.

“Sycamore. 10-and-three-quarter inches. Dragon heart string. Supple,” Mr. Ollivander recited. “Perfect wand for experimental users of magic. Ideal for those who are willing to take bold risks for the sake of curiosity. But please keep things exciting. The wand might burst into flames if it’s bored.”

“I’m sorry?”

Mr. Ollivander smiled knowingly, but did not answer her question. “I have a feeling you will be formidable.”

Daya laughed. Sanyam shrugged. And Kala was examining her wand with a newfound apprehension, turning it this way and that in her hand. The last word she would use to describe herself was _formidable_. She wanted to tell Mr. Ollivander to pick another wand for her to try. She wanted to tell him that this, surely, must have been a mistake.

But she knew it wasn’t. This wand felt as every bit part of her as the magic coursing through her veins. As natural as commanding fire with her bare hands.

***

**_Riley._ **

It was impossible to stop feeling.

Riley knew the anxiety didn’t radiate off of her. She felt it from the muggle man standing next to her on the bus with his rain jacket brushing against her arm. He was worried about money. She inched away and tried to redirect her attention elsewhere.

A gravestone. The sound of children wailing. A name. _Alan_.

Her mind never did know when to stop.

At the window seat next to Riley, Gunnar shifted closer. Riley’s headphones creaked in protest as she laid her head on her papa’s shoulder. He put his arm around her and stroked her hair. His hand felt like a buffer between Riley’s head and the minds of everyone else on the bus. Gunnar was a muggle just like Alan, but raising a Legilimens daughter had given him the capability and compassion to understand the way Riley lived.

In such a close radius, the strangers on the bus were all exposed to Riley’s Legilimency, as much as she tried to keep herself from intruding on their thoughts. She fiddled with the cord on her headphones, careful not to pry it off of the CD player clutched in her hand. The CD inside was spinning as _What’s Up_ by 4 Non Blondes played.

_I said hey… what’s going on?_

Her head was hurting by the time Riley and Gunnar got off the bus and headed for their house, neatly tucked away behind a humble fence and a large oak tree. Gloucester Crescent was a quiet neighborhood where everyone stayed in their houses after dark. She took off her headphones and listened to the sound of the rain pattering against her umbrella. It was a lot gentler than voices inside people’s minds.

“Diagon Alley has certain changed since the last time I was there,” Gunnar said after they got inside their home, hanging his jacket on the rack.

“You’ve been there before?” Riley picked up their Hogwarts shopping bags and carried them inside the living room. “When?”

Their cat, Snowball, looked on curiously from where she was perched on the back of the couch as Riley took out her new robes. She’d gotten it tailored at Madame Malkin’s this afternoon while Gunnar followed her around with a muggle camera, capturing still images of a moving, floating tape-measure. She slipped her arms into the sleeves and fastened the buckle around her collar before stepping in front of the mirror, examining herself.

Gunnar joined her at the mirror, standing behind her, his eyes gazing into hers through the reflection. _Thirteen years ago_ , he thought. _You weren’t born yet. Your mother showed me around England._

Over the years he had learned to project thoughts directly to her. It was all a matter of deliberation. He’d look her in the eye when he wanted to tell her something, and she’d pick up on cue.

Riley saw glimpses of her parents holding hands on the cobblestone lane, gazing at the owls in the Menagerie and the floating broom display in Quality Quidditch Supplies… Diagon Alley looked the way it did in old photographs, not like what she’d seen earlier today. It was strange to know that the old Diagon Alley existed as a memory inside Riley’s mind now as well as her father’s.

The memory faded, and she was back to staring in the mirror, imagining herself in the castle with these robes and a yellow-and-black tie. The girl in the mirror stared back: light brown hair, hazel eyes, and a faltering smile. Riley was the spitting image of the moving photograph on the mantelpiece, of her mother in Hogwarts, waving at her from the tall stands of the Quidditch Pitch.

“You look good.” Gunnar straightened the hood of Riley’s robes, looking wistfully at her reflection.

“I’m only missing my wand.”

They turned around to see Snowball had beaten them to it. She was yanking Riley’s wand out of the tipped-over backpack on the couch cushion, her tail flitting left and right as she tried to grab it with her paw.

“Snowball,” Gunnar warned.

The cat meowed at the sound of her name, but poked her nose on the tip of the wand. A purple spark shot out. She leaped back, gazing at it with newfound horror.

Riley chuckled and picked up the wand before her poor cat could light the couch on fire.

“ _Lumos_.”

Riley drew a line upwards in the air. Light emanated from the tip, a small, silvery orb. The light dimmed after three seconds.

“I missed this,” Gunnar said.

It was the first time in three years that there was magic in the house. Riley’s mother Ellen was a witch, too. She had grown up in Newcastle with angry and unhappy parents and a wish to get out, to never return. After graduating from Hogwarts, she’d saved up the knuts and sickles she’d earned during summers for a train ride to Iceland. Gunnar had fallen in love with her on her first night there, when he’d played his guitar at a bar called Húrra in Reykjavik, and she’d followed him out after his performance ended to tell him he was brilliant.

Gunnar had told Ellen, later on, that he’d always thought she was magical, though it took him three months to find out just how right he was.

“I miss _her_ ,” Riley said, meeting her father’s eyes.

When Ellen was alive, the house was always filled with moving, half-finished portraits of people and creatures and beasts. Some of them spoke to Riley in words she could not understand; some only watched her in silence, but Riley appreciated their presence nonetheless. When Ellen passed away, most, except one, of her paintings had been finished and claimed by the clients who’d commissioned them. The unfinished portrait of the thestral on top of the piano ducked its head in greeting as Riley turned to watch him. His wings were still pencil sketches, pale and flimsy against the silvery gray of his body and the dark forest backdrop.

Riley could not imagine a life without magic, without the voices in her head and the hidden world that she could see. But now she looked down and frowned at the wand in her hand, wondering if it may be better if she’d just give up all of it. Because magic was the thing that gave Riley life. And, eight years later, it was the thing that took her mother’s.

“You’ll like Hogwarts, Riles,” Gunnar said, noticing the shift in her expression. “You’ve dreamed about this.”

Was it too late to give up now?

“Yes,” she said instead, forcing a nod. “I have. You’re right. I’m going.”

They spent the rest of the evening baking her birthday cake and heating up the left over shepherd’s pie they’d ordered at the Leaky Cauldron earlier. When it was time to make a wish, Riley didn’t know what to ask for. A year ago she would have wished to lie down, close her eyes, and never wake up. Now she couldn’t even feel the sadness that she once tried to drown herself in.

 _Oh, Riley,_ she heard Gunnar think. Even in his head, his voice was breaking.

Her eyes were closed, but she could see what papa saw as he watched her from across the table. She could see the way the corners of her mouth twitched, pulling down the smile she tried to put on herself. Snowball had come over from the living room and curled up by her feet, rubbing her fur against Riley in comfort. Papa knew she wasn’t okay. Riley knew that he knew. But she would try to do better. For his sake, she would.

 _Make it stop,_ she wished. _Just stop._

Riley wished there were no curses in her world. No way things could have gone wrong in so many ways in so little time. No magic.

She had stopped believing in magic at eight years old when she realized it could not bring her mother back. And when she was nine—when her best friend had died, and she nearly had, too—she had concluded magic was only in her life to bring her pain.

Because by some cruel twist of fate, Riley’s magic had decided to spare only her, when all she wanted was to die with Magnus.

She opened her eyes and blew out the candles. Snowball meowed softly under the table. Gunnar didn’t say anything else besides “happy birthday”. She knew he wanted her to be the one to break the silence if— _when_ —she was ever ready. Even without Legilimency, Gunnar could read her thoughts as well as she could read his.

“I’m eleven,” she said. “Wow. It’s… it’s hard to believe.”

This was truthful, at least. Turning eleven _had_ been incredible. Riley felt her father relax a little in his mind. She wanted to tell him none of this was his fault; it was hers. But the words died in her throat.

So she urged herself to keep up trying to be happy for a moment longer. This was the Riley that papa deserved, the one he had moved out of Reykjavik last November for, even if it meant giving up his hard-earned seat in the orchestra. It had been his idea, one that Riley was desperate to agree to. He said he was happy as long as Riley was happy. She didn’t need to read his mind to know he was telling the truth.

Riley hated that he was willing to go so far for her. She hated herself for running away from her past, because doing it didn’t make her happy. Nothing ever would.

~*~

**1 September, 1999**

**_Sun._ **

Muggles went about their daily business between platforms nine and ten, unaware that a doorway to another world was right in front of their eyes.

It was too early for Sun to go in, even though she felt the thrum of magic coming from the other side of the barrier pulling her closer. The Hogwarts Express wasn’t due for another two and a half hours. Father had insisted on Sun leaving the house at eight in the morning, passing word through their butler. He had stayed up in his study until dawn, negotiating collaboration strategies with his new client, Agustín Velásquez, who ran the biggest magical menagerie chain in North America.

Sun wasn’t stupid. She knew father just wanted her out of the house.

“I’m hungry!” Joong-Ki whined, kicking the barrier with his feet. “I’m hungry, I’m hungry, I’m hungry! Let’s go already!”

Sun’s little brother was unexpectedly loud, even for a seven-year-old. Sun didn’t need to look around to know people were staring. Young-Soo, their chauffeur, gave the muggles an apologetic glance, embarrassed that such an outburst should be seen in public. He didn’t scold Joong-Ki for his tantrum. If it were Sun instead of her brother, he would have.

“We’ll escort your sister to her train first,” Young-Soo tried to insist, pushing Sun’s single suitcase closer to the barrier.

“No!”

“That’s okay.” Sun stopped Young-Soo before he could step through the barrier. “The platform’s right here. I got it.”

Young-Soo frowned as if to decide whether Sun’s father would be happy he didn’t see her to the train. The moment was punctured by the sound of Joong-Ki foot stomping against the ground. Thump. _Thump_.

“Okay.” Young-Soo caved as Sun knew he would and nudged the suitcase towards her. Sun could tell he was eager to get Joong-Ki away from the scene, maybe even bribe him with food that father would not approve of to keep him quiet. “You, umm… Have a good year.”

“Thank you.” She made her way to the barrier. “Goodbye.”

Sun walked through the barrier without fuss, tapping her heels against the marble to hear her footsteps echo through the platform. The train sat there with the doors and windows open, waiting. A family was saying a tearful goodbye beside her: the mother was straightening the collars on her daughter’s freshly pressed shirt, and the father was crouching down, whispering something to his daughter that made her laugh. Sun walked turned away before they could catch her staring.

Inside the nearest carriage, two house-elves were standing in front of a dozen suitcases already stored on the shelves, waiting to help everyone load their belongings. Sun handed them her suitcase. They tossed it and let it land neatly on top of the heap, then turned back.

“I only have one case,” she told them.

Packing had never been a hassle for Sun. Most children her age complained about organizing their belongings for boarding school, about choosing what they absolutely must take with them and what twenty other toys and gadgets and books to leave behind. Sun’s room contained only the essentials, all meticulously displayed in her spacious, spartan bedroom that overlooked the Brighton Pier.

She thanked the house-elves for their help before walking over to the last compartment where she could be alone with her thoughts. She sat by the window and gazed at the platform wall, wishing more families would appear so she’d at least have something to look at. After five minutes, she was forced to admit defeat. She was there too early.

Maybe she should leave the train. Muggle London was well within her reach, and she had not seen this side of the city since her mother had passed away. The dojo on Euston Road was only a ten minutes’ walk. Perhaps her teacher would still be there, even though she’d left abruptly the last time they’d seen each other, when father had stormed in in the middle of a tournament and dragged her out by her blue belt.

Would Master Kim want to see her after what happened? What could she have said? Because no, she had not been practicing Tae-Kwon-Do, not unless you counted the first day she was locked inside her house, when she had thrown her fist down at her wooden desk, _hard_ , and broken it in half in a fit of blind rage. Her desk was repaired with a simple wave of father’s wand and a nonverbal incantation. The wood panels that had made up Sun’s desk merged back into place as sturdy as ever, but there was a gap down the middle with jagged ridges and missing chunks all around.

Father was an impeccable spellcaster unless he chose not to be. This was her punishment, a mark of her so-called savagery.

Sun had spent the remainder of her pre-Hogwarts days having arithmetics and English and Korean and theories of magic and _etiquette_ drilled into her brain by various tutors. The purpose was to make her “relearn the manners” she had “so clearly lost”. And when she was alone, she sat in her room silently, flipping through the numerous books on her shelves without reading. She could feel the house-elves watching her per father’s instruction, though it was impossible to catch them in the act.

Perhaps it was better not to visit the dojo. She didn’t know how she would feel if she were to see everything she’d missed.

Three more hours to kill.

Sun shuffled through the contents of her backpack with the undetectable extension charm. Her fingers grazed across a roll of parchment. She took them out, unrolled several inches, and fumbled around in the bag some more until she found her quill and her favorite inkwell. The inkwell was capped with a niffler figurine lying on its belly, sifting through a bag of gold.

She had picked it out specially on her trip to Diagon Alley alone on her birthday and hidden it deep in her backpack where father did not search. Somehow, this indulgent little thing had caught her attention, and she’d bought it even if she could get in trouble for it. Her quill hovered over the parchment as she pondered over what she could write, and _who_ she could write to. In the end she gave up, shook her head, and twisted the niffler cap shut. She put everything away. There was nothing she had to report to father just yet. No important person she had met that he would have approved of.

She heard chatter near the front of the train, laughter echoing down the hallway, beckoning her to come participate in the conversation. No doubt the dozen students who were here had made each other’s acquaintance. But she closed the door. Father always said that company was a positive influence if well-chosen. He had not told her to make _friends_. Which was just as well—no one wanted to hear how she’d spent the summer perfecting all the wand movements in the first _Standard Book of Spells_. It was best that she got used to being alone.

 _The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection_ made wonderful company, anyhow. She found the chapter on basic hexes and opened her bag, holding out her hand expectantly. Her wand flew out, and she caught it reflexively like she had done every night after her father and brother had fallen asleep. She was only supposed to study the theories and the wand movements, to perfect the pronunciation of incantation without attempting to do a full spell. Father had told her she was only to use magic at school. But he did also tell her to try and get ahead.

With a smile, she tossed a sickle into the air and pointed with her wand.

“ _Impedimenta_.”

The sickle halted on its drop down and hovered in front of her nose, moving slowly enough for her to catch it in midair. She tried out the next three spells on the chapter on speed-manipulating charms, and they worked as expected, as always. She went through the other two chapters ( _Shields_ and _Basic Telltale Signs of Cursed Objects_ ) she had taught herself before starting on a new section: _Minor Hexes and Jinxes_.

She had a feeling this one would be her favorite.

But she had to make space to practice. One by one, she put her inkwell and her quill and her parchment and envelopes back inside her bag and zipped it up before putting it under her seat, safely out of reach from the mildly destructive spells she was about to attempt. The rest could wait. She would write to father after she had been sorted into Slytherin, like he had hoped.

She expected he would not reply.

***

**_Capheus._ **

Capheus had been looking forward to this day since he’d gotten his letter on August 8th, and the crowd was as big as he’d expected.

The Kamals were saying their goodbyes beside the wall where they made their entrance into Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. The crowd consisted of five boys, three of whom were dressed Hogwarts uniforms, and two parents, who were taking turns lecturing the boys on things they’d forget in five minutes’ time. Jela was the youngest of the boys, and he was tapping his foot, gazing at Capheus’ family, then at the nearest door to the train, then the clock, then back at his parents.

Capheus’ mother Shiro had her hand on his shoulder as they pushed his suitcases forward. His sister Amondi was trailing behind them, tugging on the long sleeves of her pink turtleneck as she suppressed a yawn. The train was right by her side, but she turned away, choosing instead to catch up to Capheus and his mother as they unloaded his things.

“I won’t see you ‘till Christmas,” Amondi said when they finished unloading his things.

Three girls walked by––first years, too, by the looks of it––and one of them gave Capheus a small nod. Amondi watched the girls out of the corner of her eyes, lips pursed.

Capheus crouched down to Amondi’s height and looked her in the eye. “I won’t forget to write,” he reassured.

“Promise?”

He looked up at his mother, who was quietly watching the scene. She nodded in Amondi’s direction with an encouraging smile. He held out his hand. Amondi shook it.

“You’ll tell me about the dragons?” she asked.

Capheus chuckled. Amondi had been going on and on about magical creatures at Hogwarts since her birthday in April, when her dad had mailed her a popup book full of paper-cut dragons that roared and flapped their wings at their human observers.

“ _If_ I run into one, I promise you’ll be the first person I’ll tell.”

“I hope you don’t mean that.”

Capheus turned at the sound of Jela’s voice. He laughed, clapping his friend behind his shoulder. “I won’t have to tell you anything, Jela. You’d be right there with me.”

“Lucky,” Amondi complained, shooting Jela a glare.

“She’s going resent you for that, you know,” Shiro joked.

“Are you?” Jela asked.

Amondi gave him a wide-eyed, innocent look.

“‘Course you’re not,” Jela concluded. He backed up slowly and ducked between two families passing by. His family was waving him over for some last-minute nagging. “You love me.”

“You should go.” Shiro gave Capheus a nudge. He saw Kala waving from an open window up ahead. “Find your seat. We’ll wait here.”

Capheus looked at the overhead clock that hung from the arched roof. It was almost eleven. His mom had a shift at Brimstone Boulevard in fifteen minutes. He climbed into the train and quickly found the compartment that Kala had saved and dropped off his bag. Daya was inside with her sister, touching every surface with a look of envy.

There was enough time for a final goodbye. The station was filling up now, and soon it would be impossible to go anywhere without being swept in a certain direction by the crowd. He mumbled “excuse me” to three boys chatting near the door and squeezed past, pushing his way to where Shiro and Amondi waited near the door.

“I’ll miss you two,” Capheus said, throwing his arm around them both.

Amondi was scratching her neck through the fabric of her clothes, a bead of sweat running down the side of her face. He patted her head and gave her a sympathetic look. Turtlenecks weren’t meant to be worn in September, much less in a crowd at a train station. But the high collars and long sleeves were a necessary evil to hide the scars across her arms and neck from prying eyes.

“I’ll miss you, my zebra,” Shiro said. “Write to me after the sorting?”

“I’ll tell you all about the boat ride,” he promised.

Shiro broke out of the hug and pulled Amondi closer as another mother pushed past her to catch up with her son, waving a hat that he’d dropped. “Sounds like it’ll be quite the experience,” Shiro said. “Nothing like being flown to the mountains.”

“I’m sorry I’ll miss that,” Capheus said, his voice lowered.

When Capheus and his mom still lived in Kenya, he used to dream of finding a Dream Messenger when he woke up on his eleventh birthday, certifying that he was a wizard bound for the _Uagadou School of Magic_. Now the sound of the school’s name left a sharp twinge in his heart. He should have been able to go. He should.

“Hogwarts is a very good opportunity. Cherish it,” Shiro whispered in his ear. She reached for his hand and gave it a tight squeeze. A message. _We must look forward_.

“I know, mama,” he conceded. In a lower voice, he added, “The ninth is almost here. Be careful. Write if you need anything.”

“We’ll be okay,” Amondi told him, puffing up her chest as she looked up at him. “I’ll take care of us both.”

It was difficult to picture, but the idea of it made Capheus smile anyway. “I know I can count on you,” he said. Amondi beamed. “Take care of yourself, too. I’ll talk to you soon.”

Capheus found his way back to his compartment again just as Kala was leaving to say a final goodbye to her family. He stared out the window and watched as Kala was pulled into a group hug by her parents and a now-crying Daya (“I wanna come, too!”). Jela was nowhere to be seen––probably raiding his brothers’ compartments, demanding that they share some of their sweets and chocolate frog cards. Capheus leaned his head against the back of the comfortable seat, watching his mother’s retreating figure as she, Amondi, and Jela’s parents walked through the barrier.

His gaze shifted to the adjacent wall next to the barrier, and he frowned. There was a poster there that he hadn’t noticed before. It was pinned on the bulletin board along with photos of students who had died from the Battle of Hogwarts, and a news article about the school’s reopening this September.

 _Have you seen this wizard?_ , Capheus read, sticking his head out the open window to make out the words. _Fenrir Greyback. Werewolf. Ally of Death Eaters. Do not approach! Notify the Ministry of Magic immediately by owl. Any information leading to the arrest of this man shall be duly rewarded._

The moving photograph of Fenrir Greyback snarled as it noticed Capheus watching. Even from this distance, Capheus felt a chill run through his body. This man was notoriously savage and known to attack children, and the first thing on his wanted poster wasn’t the fact that he had joined Voldemort’s operations willingly. It wasn’t the fact that he had chosen to aid a rank of wizards and witches willing to commit genocide in the name of blood superiority. It was his status as a werewolf.

Capheus had been here in Britain when Aurors were making arrests left and right, trying to capture every last person rumored to have been in Voldemort’s ranks. He had been here when he’d heard the news that Fenrir Greyback had continued to evade capture. Families had kept close eyes on their remaining children in case he decided to prey on them. Many concerned parents had used their children’s safety as a way to demand that the Ministry update the protocols on the werewolf registry so that other “dangerous rabids” would be kept under close watch.

“Nothing’s going to happen to your family, Capheus,” Kala promised, joining him at the window. He hadn’t heard her come back in. She waved at her family one last time before they crossed the barrier along with a few other parents. “My parents will make sure of it.”

“I know.” He turned to Kala, crossing his arms. “I just...”

He stopped there, wondering what he could possibly say. Kala nodded before he could add anything else. She knew what the stakes were for his mother and Amondi. She understood that the registry wouldn’t make things better for most of Britain, contrary to popular belief; it would only make things _worse_ for the werewolves who weren’t criminals.

Imagine if Greyback got his hands on that list of people, people he could lure into his pack.

“The narrative is biased.” Kala tossed her backpack on the seat next to her, sharing his anger in sympathy. “Remus Lupin was a wonderful professor, and a war hero, _and_ a werewolf. They chose to avoid the werewolf part of his story in his obituary.”

“All the werewolves people know are the dangerous ones,” Capheus agreed.

September 9th would be the first full moon where Capheus wouldn’t be there to help, and he was scared for his mother and Amondi. What if something were to happen when he wasn’t there? What if someone heard them transform, heard them thrashing and biting and growling in the middle of the night, and the soundproofing charms around their apartment had worn off? What if they were taken away, leaving Capheus with no family?

His mother was the kindest woman he knew. Amondi was a seven-year-old with a dragon obsession, far from dangerous. But none of this would matter to the people who didn’t know them as people before they knew them as werewolves.

If anyone had caught them, they would be treated like beasts, just like Greyback.

 _Things weren’t supposed to be like this_ , Capheus thought repeatedly in his mind. The voice of his mother, the one that was telling him to look on the bright side, was fading as he scowled at Greyback’s face. He wished there was some way to turn back the clock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big shoutout to:  
> \- My lovely beta @greenmountaingirl who gave me great advice on how to make this story as fabulous as possible and made the cover for it on FF (plus a moodboard version for my tumblr posts) AND helped me with the summary.  
> \- My sensitivity reader @Tximista who has very kindly agreed to look over all my Nomi POV sections and any parts of the narrative involving her identity and coming-out.  
> \- My tumblr sis @jooooooo_e who wrote the article on Hogwarts reopening and gave me permission to use it in this story.
> 
> YOU ALL ARE LOVELY HUMAN BEINGS! *HEARTS*
> 
> Plus, they all post wonderful stories here on AO3, so CHECK THEM OUT PLEASE AND THANK YOU :D


	2. The Start of a New Age, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wolfgang wishes people would stop judging. She loses herself in detective fiction. Will befriends a Legilimens. Lito has an existential crisis.

**_Wolfgang._ **

They hadn’t entered through the barrier to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters yet, but Wolfgang could already feel people staring.

Inside King’s Cross, it wasn’t difficult to tell the magical families from the muggle passerby and the muggle-born students who had not realized this world existed until their eleventh birthday. Robes stood out against a sea of t-shirts and button-ups, which were much more sensible clothes for an early September weather.

“We should go,” Wolfgang mumbled.

“Coward. Let them look,” his cousin Steiner hissed. Then, raising his voice, “Show them who owns this fucking world.”

“ _Steiner_ ,” Wolfgang’s uncle Sergei warned under his breath. Sergei raised his chin, casting dismissive glances at two muggle men pushing a trolley past them. “Discretion. Remember what I told you.”

It was bullshit that Sergei would make an effort to demand discretion from his son at all. Sergei himself harbored the same views, after all. Wolfgang tilted his head slightly, meeting the eyes of the common European viper wrapped around his uncle’s neck—a snake named Albern, currently piled comfortably on top of the sable fur collar of Sergei’s robe.

_Not exactly subtle yourself, Sergei_ , Albern hissed.

Sometimes it was like Albern could read Wolfgang’s mind. Wolfgang looked down, breaking eye contact with the snake so no one would get suspicious. It was good to know someone was on his side, but Wolfgang couldn’t exactly respond in Parseltongue in broad daylight. Sergei wasn’t aware that Wolfgang understood any of the hissing. Neither was Steiner.

“Fine, father,” Steiner drawled, rolling his eyes. “Whatever you say, father.”

Steiner pushed his trolley forward, purposefully bumping it across the side of a muggle woman’s duffle bag on the ground before crossing the barrier. The woman tutted her tongue and pulled the bag closer. She narrowed her eyes at Wolfgang before turning her gaze to the snake that Sergei was wearing like a scarf.

“Wolfgang, go,” Sergei urged, nudging Wolfgang forward with a rough hand on his shoulder.

Wolfgang didn’t need to be told twice. He shrugged Sergei’s hand off and made a move for the barrier without another glance behind. But he did whisper a quick goodbye to the snake, his hissing masked by the sound of his trolley’s wheels against the marble floor. Albern had been good company while he lived at his uncle’s, as far as a snake went, and he knew Albern could pick up sounds better than a human. He half-expected to be smacked in the face with the solid brick barrier. Still, he pushed on. The faster he got away, the better.

The platform was packed with families saying goodbye; groups of older students reuniting with each other after the summer; and apprehensive first-years climbing aboard, trying to seek out new friends. Wolfgang hurried forward to bury himself among the crowd so his uncle and cousin wouldn’t find him again. A trio of Ravenclaws pushed past him with their own trunks, then turned back for a second glance.

“It’s him,” Wolfgang heard one of them whisper. He kept pushing his trolley and looked down at his shoes and focused walking forward, grasping his wand tightly in his hand, which was hidden by the sleeves of his robes. _Left, right, left, right._ “The Bogdanow.”

“I can’t believe they still accepted him,” the second boy said. Wolfgang hurried past, trying not to let his scowl show. “Him _and_ his cousin.”

He made his way to the train in brisk steps. As he hoisted his trunks up to the nearest storage compartment, he was careful not to meet the house-elves in the eye. House-elves were ordered to be polite to all students, just like the ones at home were to his uncle and cousin, but Wolfgang knew there was that _look_ in their eyes. All the students had that look, too, as he squeezed past crowds in the corridor of the train carriage, peeking at every little window on the compartment doors to find one that was empty.

The _look_ in question was a look accompanied by hushed whispers, discreet reaches for wands inside pockets, and parents pulling their children close. It was nothing new for Wolfgang. Nothing different from the looks he used to get in Berlin.

Wolfgang wasn’t blind, but he doubted people cared that he’d noticed.

If these people were to ask Wolfgang what he thought about his family, he would have told them he was nothing like them. He was not arrogant like Steiner, or viciously cunning like Sergei, or a Death Eater like his father, Anton Bogdanow, who had been caught in Hogsmeade on the night of the Battle of Hogwarts, terrorizing villagers with other Death Eaters in silver masks as they waited for the protective barrier around Hogwarts to break. Uncle Sergei’s involvement in the same ordeal, though not supported by official evidence, was an open secret.

Of course, no one asked, and when no one asked, Wolfgang knew not to tell. The Bogdanows were notorious blood supremacists. People assumed Wolfgang was no exception. So it was his word against theirs, and all of his words would be seen as a lie.

“Excuse me, please,” a girl said beside him.

Wolfgang moved to step out of the way, turning to see who spoke. The first thing he saw of the girl was her unruly black curls, forced back by a golden headband that was dangerously close to slipping. She met his eyes and nodded, thanking him for clearing her path before heading out again, down the steps to embrace a smaller girl who looked like her sister. She spoke softly in Hindi as her sister continued to sob.

There was something familiar about this girl.

He was still standing in the same spot when she climbed back on board. She opened her mouth to greet him, or perhaps to ask him to move again. Before she could do either, Steiner opened the door to the nearest compartment, trunks in hand, and shoved her to the ground. He stomped over to the luggage racks and tossed his belongings at the house-elves, who reached out their flimsy arms to catch the trunks before they could fall.

“Mudblood,” Steiner hissed at the girl before slipping back to his compartment. Wolfgang caught a glimpse of Aivar and Mikhail, Steiner’s cronies, before the door slid shut.

Wolfgang walked over to the girl and extended a hand. She reached for it, pulling herself up.

“His assumption was ill-informed,” the girl said after standing. “My parents are magical. We dress like muggles for the sake of discretion. And regardless, he shouldn’t have used a slur. There’s no justification behind blood supremacy besides arrogance and bigotry.”

“I’m sorry he said that,” Wolfgang said.

“You don’t have to apologize for someone else’s mistake.” The girl moved past him, waving at a boy who was peeking his head out of a compartment from across the carriage. “My friends and I are planning to play some exploding snap. Would you like to join us?”

Wolfgang shook his head. “Maybe some other time.”

She was clearly disappointed, but she gave him a smile and walked on without him.

As the clock approached noon, it became clear that most compartments in this train carriage were full. Wolfgang contemplated moving to the next carriage, even if it meant squeezing past a group of Gryffindor boys who were blocking the path, watching him with narrow eyes. He dodged their gaze and turned back to look again, walking slower this time. When he reached the other end once more, he noticed a girl with short black hair sitting alone in a compartment with no other bags beside her own.

Slowly, he pulled the door open, peeking his head inside. The girl looked up from her book abruptly, lowering the wand in her hand.

“I was—sorry, I’m… do you mind if I sit with you?” Wolfgang finally blurted out, annoyed that he didn’t think of what to say.

She shrugged, and he took that as a yes. He slipped in quickly and sat on the opposite end after shutting the door, hugging his backpack to his chest. A minute later she looked up at him, blinking once. “Are you going to stare at me for the whole ride?”

“No,” he said quickly, putting his bag aside.

Outside the window, people were congregating in groups to say their last goodbyes. Wolfgang counted the number of pointed hats worn on the platform.

“I’m Sun. Sun Bak.”

Wolfgang was surprised Sun was still talking to him. He thought she’d regretted the decision to let him in. Her name sounded familiar. He remembered seeing the name Bak in the Daily Prophet… something about a trading agency? Her father’s?

“I’m Wolfgang.”

“Bogdanow. I know who you are,” Sun said.

So much for a fresh start. But Wolfgang wasn’t surprised. After his father’s trial last May, the entire nation flinched at the sound of the Bogdanow name. Would Sun react the same way?

He snuck a glance at Sun and was surprised to see her smirking.

“I know who you are, too,” Wolfgang decided to say.

“I see we’ve both got a reputation we did not want,” Sun said. “How about we forget all that and start over?”

***

~~**_Michael_** ** _._ ** ~~

She ducked into an alley and pushed her back flat against the wall, ears perched to any sound of footsteps around. Her enemies were far enough for her to make a run for somewhere unexpected. Far enough for her to ditch them for good.

She pulled the hood of her cloak around her head in case anyone saw her face.

Not that she had to. She was a metamorphmagus, and she could change her appearance at will. It didn’t matter if her face was seen. This wasn’t even her actual face; it was the disguise she’d morphed herself into that morning, standing in front of the mirror with a portrait of a girl from centuries past.

She didn’t notice the figure dangling on top of her until a large hand closed around her mouth, and the other grabbed her roughly by the shoulder. She wanted to scream, but no sound came. Her body began to tremble even though she couldn’t move an inch.

Her father was shaking her awake, tapping the pocket watch fixed to the inside of his robe, shouting that it was “nine in the morning, for Merlin’s sake, why are you still in bed?”, and “your sister’s been ready for an hour, have you been staying up late again?”, and “it’s a two hour drive to London without traffic now _get dressed_!”

Father wasn’t entire wrong. She had stayed up the night before, reading _Guinevere Gray and the Queen’s Chalice_ under her bedsheets with her glowing new wand clenched between her teeth. _Lumos_ had been easy enough to master.

_The Queen’s Chalice_ was the newest and longest book in her favorite series by far. It was sent to her by owl a week ago just as she was contemplating how she could go about ordering a copy once she was at Hogwarts, away from the prying eyes of her parents. ( _To Miss Marks_ , the parcel read. Beneath it was her address, including the exact location of her room in the Marks Manor. No return address. _Happy belated birthday. —Y_ )

She was still thinking about her dream as they crossed the barrier into Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. This was the third book in the Guinevere Gray Series, a collection of diary-style anecdotes from the perspective of Guinevere, a metamorphmagus who used her ability to work as a vigilante detective. This story began on a red train not unlike the Hogwarts Express, when Gwen stumbled upon a box of tarot cards with half the deck missing.

“ _Michael_ ,” Janet, her mother, hissed. “Michael, did you hear what I just said?”

She tried not to flinch at the name and looked up for a quick second to show Janet she was listening. Before she could catch a glimpse of her reflection against the train window, she let her gaze fall back down on her shoes. “Yes, mother,” she mumbled with a scowl. “You said you wanted me to send an owl tonight.”

Jamie, her gray spotted owl, let out a disgruntled chitter in his cage on top of her trunks. He’d warmed up to her since she’d bought him for her eleventh birthday a month back. She liked to think Jamie shared her sentiment about conversing with her parents.

“And?” her father prompted.

Her parents were standing side by side, finishing each other’s sentences as they took turns giving her every last bit of discipline they could before the train would leave. Her sister Teagan was standing a few steps away, watching the conversation with uneasy eyes as she swayed back and forth on the balls of her feet. Teagan did that whenever she was witnessing a confrontation. Janet and Lawrence Marks were a unit; she and Teagan were anything but.

“You told me to speak to the professors after class. Ask for assignments ahead of time. Practice the spells on weekends instead of—” she paused, trying to recall their exact words—“ _fooling around_.”

“Unbelievable,” Janet said.

She tensed. She hadn’t thought mother would tell her off now in front of all these people.

But Janet wasn’t looking at her. Janet was glaring to their left, where a girl with bright purple braids was talking nonstop at her mother, flailing her hands around as if she were trying to put out an invisible fire. The purple hair wasn’t the only thing that stood about the girl. It was also her denim skirt and pink-and-black striped tights, all the things she wore that made her impossible to miss. She carried her presence with ease, catching the eyes of the people who were looking.

In front of everyone, the girl’s purple braids turned blue.

“Amanita!” her mother chastised, shaking her head. It sounded only half-hearted.

So Amanita was a metamorphmagus like Gwen. A sting of jealousy pinched her heart. She would have given anything for an ability to change her appearance at will. Learning that powers like this could only be acquired by birth had been heartbreaking.

“As we were saying.” Her father’s voice pulled her attention back. “Stay in line. Be on your best behavior. We _will_ be writing to Headmistress McGonagall to check on your progress. No more nonsense.”

_Nonsense_. He’d said it as if she’d ever deliberately sabotage their lives and draw attention to herself when all she wanted to do was hide. As if what happened in Chicago years ago, and the subsequent embarrassment that followed her family like shadows, was her fault.

“Yes, father,” she responded automatically.

She was looking at the Hogwarts Express again, at the scratches on the metallic shell of the carriage covered by fresh red paint. If people looked close enough, they could still see small ridges underneath the perfect façade where the layers had chipped off, and the bigger gashes in the shells that were filled in and camouflaged with the rest of their surroundings. She wished the house-elves hadn’t painted over it all. Painting over the train was like covering up scars. _Scars told stories that voices might not._ Guinevere had said this in her second book, _The Lost King._ She thought Gwen had a point, though she understood that it was easier to keep these things out of sight, out of mind.

“Michael!” Janet hissed, snapping her fingers.

_Don’t. Call. Me. Michael._

The metal handle on her trolley was rattling quietly enough that only she could hear. Jamie was fluttering his wings nervously in his cage. She put a hand on top of all her trunks, urging the shaking to stop as she looked up. The last thing she needed was another incident.

Standing by her mother was Mrs. Sandoval and her son Vincent, a second-year. They had joined her family for tea two weeks ago, and two weeks before that. While the Marks had many acquaintances from work, the Slytherin side of their social circle had dwindled since the war, reduced to only half a dozen families who hadn’t allied themselves with Death Eaters. Families who had managed to evade most of the social backlash that followed.

“Oh. I—g-good morning, Mrs. Sandoval,” she muttered. They must have gotten here when she was looking at the train. “Vincent.”

“I just wanted to stop by before I have to leave,” Mrs. Sandoval said in her cheery voice, a pink-lipped smile spreading across her rounded cheeks. “You excited for Hogwarts?”

“I am, yes,” she said. Vincent gave her a polite nod, which she returned.

“Well, I’ll be off, Janet, Lawrence. Take care. Come now, Vincent.”

Vincent was guided away after a quick goodbye. She shifted her gaze to the door of the nearest carriage before turning to the clock hanging high on the wall. “I should go, too,” she made an excuse, forcing herself to meet her parents’ eyes. They needed to be convinced she wasn’t intending to escape. “It’s almost time. I’ll write.”

They didn’t protest, so after a farewell she hauled her trunks inside the carriage and handed everything except Jamie’s cage and her backpack to the house-elves stationed there. Before she could enter the corridor and search for a compartment, owl in tow, a hand pulling on the back of her shirt stopped her.

“Can you write to me, too?” Teagan asked, having followed her inside.

“Yeah. Of course.” For the first time today, she meant it. “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you, Mike,” Teagan said, pulling her into a hug.

_She just had to ruin it,_ she thought dejectedly before breaking away with a strained smile.

Before the train departed, she sat in a compartment alone, one facing away from the side window where parents and other children were saying goodbye. She thought about closing the door; she almost did, but the walls started closing in the moment she went to pull the door shut. She pushed it back open and decided she would just have do something to distract herself from the noise of everyone chatting.

_The Queen’s Chalice_ was buried underneath the many contents of her backpack, waiting for her to let it breathe again. She’d had to hide it as much as she could lest father decided to check her things one last time before she left. This story had a way of pulling her away from the real world. She was Gwen again, a detective who could become somebody else at the drop of a hat. She was ducking behind an alley by the train station where she was on a stake out. In fourteen-minutes and thirty seconds, a passenger would get off the two o’clock train to Cornwall, and she would catch the train before it departed again, hoping to find the deck of tarot cards he’d left behind…

She was jolted from Gwen’s world when someone knocked on the doorframe of her open compartment. The train was already moving through the outskirts of London. She turned to her guest, a small, skinny boy with round glasses too large for his face. He was hugging a book the size of his chest.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” he said. “Some boys in the compartment I was in decided to play exploding snap, and I would prefer not to get my favorite book incinerated on my first day. Do you mind if I join you? ”

“Oh. I, uhh…” she muttered, her gaze dropping to the floor beneath them as she spoke. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Thank you! I’m Hernando.”

Hernando pulled the compartment door shut. She frowned but didn’t tell him to stop. It was easier for her to stay in a closed space when she wasn’t alone. He sat opposite of her and dropped his giant book on the seat beside him with a thud, eyeing at Jamie in his cage beside her with great interest.

“I’m—”

She opened her mouth, but stopped. Maybe she should have been thinking about names instead of reading. Maybe one of those names could have been good, or at least fitting enough, that she could try referring to herself as such. But no. She didn’t know anything about Hernando. She didn’t know if Hernando could be trusted, and she had enough scars on her body to know not to test it.

“I’m Mike,” she finally mumbled. The name left a bitter taste in her mouth.

If Hernando wondered why she’d hesitated, he didn’t show it. He waved at Jamie, who gave him a happy hoot, tilting his head sideways to examine his human companion. Hernando turned his gaze to the book clutched tight in her hands. “What are you reading?”

She felt her face flush. What would a boy think once he found out she was reading a book meant for girls?

“It’s… it’s a detective novel.” She lifted the cover up to show him, then immediately put it down before he could get a closer look, drumming the cover with her fingers quietly. “About… about this girl named Guinevere Gray. She’s a metamorphmagus.”

“I love detective fiction!” He beamed.

She let out a breath in relief and let the book fall into her lap. She opened her mouth to say likewise, but he started speaking again. If she weren’t so nervous, she’d have chuckled at how apparently chatty he could be. “So there _are_ detective novels in the magical world as well! I’ve been meaning to look for fiction involving magic ever since I got my Hogwarts letter. Do you have any recommendations? I heard _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_ was a good place to start, but I was hoping for a more modern interpretation. And—wait, first of all, what’s a metamorphmagus?”

She spent the rest of her ride explaining the plot of the Guinevere Gray Series with many, _many_ interruptions. Hernando was well-versed in the art of derailing conversations; amidst explanations of the villain Dr. Reno and his double-identity, she’d also been given lessons into the basics of muggle forensics. She’d come to know that while the methods of deduction appeared to be similarly structured in both worlds, science, as opposed to spells, made solving crimes a vastly different experience.

It was too bad that she’d hidden the first two Guinevere Gray books deep inside her trunk. She hadn’t expected anyone to be interested in them during the ride, but Hernando seemed destined to prove her wrong. He was a muggle-born, yet he seemed to fit right into the world she had grown up in, the one that was wrong for her in so many ways.

She wondered how Hernando would feel if he ever found out everything about her.

***

**_Will._ **

Will walked across the barrier with his dad, their steps slow and uneven, mixed with the staccato of a cane thumping against the ground. Under his father’s shadow, Will felt the scrutiny everywhere he turned to look. He clutched his wand with the standard three-fingered grip, the handle resting comfortably in the center of his palm, ready to aim at a moment’s notice.

People looked on in awe and whispered to each other as the Gorskis emerged onto Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, pointing not so discreetly at the war hero with the pronounced limp. Michael Gorski was a Senior Auror, and he had been assigned to take over Mad-Eye Moody’s task force after Moody’s unfortunate death. He had been on call on the night of the Battle of Hogwarts, and it would turn out to be the last fight of his career.

Diego waited up ahead, standing by the train with his trunks. His parents beamed amiably at the sight of Will and his father.

“Gorski! About time—I thought you were gonna bail!”

“Bail from Hogwarts? Please,” Will quipped. 

A group of older Gryffindors were making a beeline for the open door beside them. They stopped at the sight of Will and waved. Diego returned their wave while Will froze, enjoying the attention in a way Will never could. After the boys had gone, Diego’s dad pulled him aside, whispering some last-minute advice about Quidditch. His mom, meanwhile, tutted her tongue and muttered about the lack of safety precautions the school had for flying.

Will turned back to face his own dad. Michael was leaning against the side of the train, panting as he rested his leg. The metal of his prosthetic was heavier than flesh and bone, and artificial limbs—even magical ones—could grow unbelievably hot during the summer. Michael gave Will a shake of his head when he caught Will’s frown, a little “don’t worry about me, son” kind of look that was far from convincing.

“Be sure to watch yourself. Watch who’s around you. In front of you. Behind you,” Michael advised. “They know your name now up at Hogwarts. Some of ‘em might wanna befriend you. Others might not be so friendly. Constant vigilance, remember?”

“Yeah, dad. I’ll be careful.”

“ _Protego_ ,” his dad reminded him again. “That’s the spell. You got it? This—” he parried with his wand—“is the proper wand movement. You wanna cast it nice and quick.”

“I got it, dad,” Will said. It had been the first spell his dad had taught him the moment they got back from Diagon Alley on his birthday. The one spell he would never dare to forget.

Will had asked his dad why he needed to learn a protection charm _after_ the war had ended, and his dad had explained that enemies still lurked out there. Michael may have been forced to retire from the Auror Department, but Dan, Diego’s dad, would drop by their house every night after his shift and update his old partner on Auror business.

Most of the runaway Death Eaters had been captured, but Britain was far from safe. Fenrir Greyback was among the escaped, and he was the one who had given Will’s dad the cursed wounds that severed his lung and one leg. Greyback was arguably the most dangerous of the runaways, the one the Aurors prioritized when assigning task forces. The Ministry had even gone so far as to put up wanted posters of Greyback in the muggle neighborhoods, leaving no details except _Armed and Extremely Dangerous—Do Not Approach_ and the number to the one and only telephone the Ministry had.

“Train’s almost leaving,” Michael reminded Will. He gave Will a gentle push on his shoulder, urging him forward. “Go on.”

“I’ll write,” Will promised.

“Sure you will! You’ll get new friends and forget all about me!” His dad laughed. Will cracked a smile. Before Will could say anything else, his dad began to cough, deep and racking, his chest heaving with the force of it. After a minute he breathed in deep and waved Will off. “I’m fine. I’m fine.”

“Send Dan a patronus if you need anything,” Will reminded him.

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Michael tried to sound nonchalant, but Will could hear the smile in his voice. He’d never say it out loud, but Will knew he liked that Will cared. “Now go.”

Will handed his trunks to the house-elves by the storage racks and headed inside. It didn’t take too long to find Diego—he only had to search for the loudest compartment. He opened the door and was greeted by a bunch of students he’d never seen before. Something told him it was his family name that drew them over.

The person that caught his eye was the girl with the light brown braid sitting in the corner, the only one who didn’t get up and introduce herself and ask if he’d been receiving “top-notch combat training from _the_ Michael Gorski”. She was wearing a gray dress with a purple shawl large enough to swallow her whole. Maybe that was the purpose of it; she seemed to have retreated into the laced fabric like it was an armor shielding her from everyone else.

Perhaps the girl didn’t hear Diego and the others at all. She was wearing these blue earmuffs with a wire hanging down that Will sometimes spotted muggles wearing. A white cat was curled up on her lap, eyeing everyone in the compartment with a wary look. In her hand was a small box, within which a circular disc was spinning. The girl finally saw Will looking as he went to sit down across from her. She met his eyes and gave him a small nod.

“This is Riley,” Diego introduced, slipping into the seat next to the girl. “She’s awesome. She let us share her compartment.”

Will rolled his eyes. Diego was a great friend in many ways, but he had a penchant for barging into all kinds of places uninvited. Something told him he’d have begged Riley to let him and his new pack stay even if she’d said no.

The first two hours of the ride passed by agonizingly slowly as Will was forced into a game of Gobstones. He snuck glances at Riley whenever it wasn’t his turn to capture a stone. She was staring out the window, stroking her cat, frowning like she might have a headache. He wondered if she found everything too loud. Maybe her earmuffs made things quieter for her.

It was only when an older Gryffindor boy peeked his head into the compartment and invited them to a game of Wizard’s Chess that the compartment cleared. Will declined the game and stayed behind. He joined Riley at the window, propping his arm against the tray table that had been pulled up in the space between them.

“Sorry about Diego,” Will said. He didn’t know if Riley could hear him. “He’s usually a cool guy, but he can be a bit…”

“Too much?” she suggested, taking off her earmuffs.

“Yeah.”

“It’s okay. I don’t mind.”

He looked at Riley’s earmuffs again, tracing the wire linked to it to the device in her hand. Maybe the earmuffs were charmed with a noise-cancellation spell. Or maybe the wire was charmed with signals, and the box was a receiver, a radio of sorts.

“These are called headphones,” Riley explained.“They’re—”

She stopped abruptly when she realized he was looking at her wide-eyed. Her shoulder tensed, and she looked down, fiddling with her wires. Her _headphone_ wires. “They’re muggle inventions,” she finished in a small voice. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“You’re a Legilimens,” Will realized. 

Riley nodded. She was looking at the cat on her lap, trying to avoid his gaze. “I can’t help it sometimes,” she confessed. “Hearing people’s thoughts. I try to block them out, I really, really try. But something always slips through.”

That was the danger of Legilimency—those who didn’t have the ability desired it; those who were born with it suffered from it. There was a Legilimens named Kareem in the Auror Department who helped with interrogations, not because he was passionate about detective work, but because he felt an obligation. Like Will’s father, Kareem had been injured in the war. Unlike his father, it was his mind that the Death Eaters broke, not his body. They had torn up every memory inside him until there was no Kareem left.

“I believe you,” Will told her. He offered her a smile, a sign that he would never turn her away. “I won’t tell.”

Riley met his eyes finally but couldn’t smile back. He wondered if she’d seen what had just crossed his mind. If she’d seen what some people in this world were willing to do to those like her.

“Not even Diego?” she asked.

So it wasn’t only his bad memories that slipped through. Riley had delved in deeper and seen some good ones, too. “Not ’till you’re ready,” he told her.

“Thank you. That means a lot.” She picked up her cat and moved across to sit next to him, their shoulders touching. “This is Snowball,” she introduced.

The cat purred at the sound of her name. Will held out his palm. “Well, uhh, nice to meet you? Snowball?” He looked at Riley. “Is this how you introduce yourself to a cat?”

Riley chuckled. Snowball raised her paw and placed it on top of Will’s palm, giving him a stern look. “I think she likes you,” Riley said.

Will spent the rest of the ride indulging in Snowball’s many attempts to get his attention while he pestered Riley about the ins and outs of muggle technology. Riley told him about the CD player, about the way songs were recorded and sold using these circular discs with tiny etchings on one side that turned into vibrations. (“I don’t know how, exactly. My muggle school hadn’t covered much.”)

Talking about muggle life seemed to have made Riley happier, and Will could see why. It was incredible that the magical world believed themselves to be self-sufficient when the muggles were excelling in their own way, entertaining themselves in a way magical people would never think to do.

“So the CD player’s basically like a record player?” he asked.

“You know about those?”

“Not a lot.” He said in a quieter voice, embarrassed that the word _record player_ was just about all he knew about muggle technology. “I’ve seen bits and pieces of things from the muggle world, but I didn’t grow up there.”

“I see.” She handed him the earmuffs—no, _headphones_ —and pushed a button on the side of her CD player. “You can give it a listen. Do you know any muggle music?”

“Not really.” He said quickly, then added, “Some. A song or two.”

She showed him a song called _Come To My Window_ by Melissa Etheridge. The style weren’t so different from the music he heard growing up, but there was something unique about hearing it through headphones in public. It was like being in on a secret no one around you knew. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d felt that way.

It had always been a possibility for Will to live like Riley did. His mother was muggle-born, and when she had been alive, there was always music in the house. Will could have learned about how muggles lived so he could understand how his mom saw the world. But that possibility was taken away from him when he was three years old, when his mom had passed away, and his dad had tried to lock up all memories of her.

“I’m sorry about your mother,” Riley said.

“Thank you.”

Will didn’t know why he let Riley hear all this thoughts when he barely knew her. But he didn’t mind. She had a way of listening that made people feel heard.

_Could you miss someone you never really got to know?_

“Yes,” Riley answered with a sad smile. “You could.”

***

**_Lito._ **

Making friends before the start of school sounded easier in theory. Everyone on the Hogwarts Express had retreated into a compartment before the train started moving. They had probably known their travel companions for years. Lito imagined these kids growing up together as neighbors, hosting Quidditch competitions in their backyard with some sort of magical invisibility shield so muggles could never see.

Lito walked down the aisle and clutched the folded letter tighter in his hand, his finger running along the creases as he recalled what it said for the hundredth time:

_Dear Lito,_

_School started two weeks ago. It’s a new school this time. It’s weird being here without you. Still weird. Then again, this is an all-girls boarding school. The boys are on the other side of the fence, so I wouldn’t have seen you anyway._

Lito counted four more compartments completely filled and shuffled out of view before one of the kids could catch him staring through the small window on the door. Two older boys ran past him, chasing each other with wands in their hands that were shooting sparks. The lit wands reminded Lito of sparklers on Cinco de Mayo.

_Everyone keeps asking about you,_ the letter continued. It was written in Spanish, and it was one of the only reasons Lito hadn’t forgotten how to write the language he’d spent the first nine years of his life learning. _They were all like, “Where did Lito go? Did you know? Did he go somewhere fun?”. I’m sure I’ve already complained about this. Anyway, the questions were getting pretty annoying. Last summer I got fed up, so I lied and told them you were recruited for a super-secret spy academy where they teach you how to phase through walls and drop from a rope on the ceiling._

Lito had chuckled when he’d read it the first time. María didn’t know how right she actually turned out to be. Neither did Lito, until the day before his eleventh birthday, when Professor McGonagall knocked on their door as they were having carnitas and pulled him head-first into a world he didn’t know existed.

“You looking for a place to sit?”

A voice stopped him in his track as he was about to cross to the next carriage and hope for better luck there. He turned back and saw a small, skinny girl peeking out of her open compartment the middle of the carriage. He didn’t know how he’d missed her the first time. She tilted her head to watch him, her silky black hair sliding past her shoulders. She appeared to be alone.

He walked over, stopping a few paces by the door. “Can I… join you?”

“Your call. I don’t bite.”

She sounded American. Why was she in Britain? Had she moved here like he did?

“Thanks,” he said. He slid into the compartment and closed the door before they could draw attention from anyone else.

“Well, I wasn’t gonna let you wander the halls for seven hours.”

“The ride takes _seven hours_?”

She gave him a sly grin. Folding her arms, she looked him over from head to toe. “You’re a muggle-born, aren’t you?”

“And you’re not,” he deduced back, trying hard not to sound disappointed. She was already dressed in uniform, and she looks at him like she _knew_ things. Was he the only muggle-born? “Is your family all magical?”

“As far as I know.” She shrugged. “I’m Daniela. You can call me Dani.”

_Daniela_. She said her name in the same accent as Lito would.

“I’m Lito,” he said. “ _Hablas español?_ ”

Dani looked at him in surprise. Lito frowned at the intensity of her gaze. It was impossible to look away, but he couldn’t tell why. Her eyes were the same dark brown as his, but it was like staring into a well as you were falling in head-first with no way out, thrust down there by an invisible hand. His stomach lurched with the force of it.

“ _Sí._ My family’s Mexican,” Dani explained.

She broke the eye contact quickly, choosing instead to look out the window. The strange sensation in his chest dissipated as soon as she broke eye contact. Rain was picking up outside, but it was still warm where he was. Some kind of thermal magic at work?

“I don’t remember it much, though,” Dani continued as she drew random shapes on the fogged-up window with her finger. “We moved to America when I was four. I was in California for most of my life. And then the war happened, and then we moved here, where the sun never shines.”

“The war? The one with the… the Death Eaters?”

“You heard about that?”

Lito nodded. He didn’t know enough about magic to know how bad it was, but his parents had been ordering the Daily Prophet since they’d found out he was a wizard. The first article he’d ever read was from the day before his birthday. There was an article about Hogwarts reopening after the Battle. It was terrifying to know there could be a war bad enough to destroy a fortress made of magic, yet the muggles side of the country, including himself, remained completely oblivious.

That was Lito’s first impression of the magical world: they were too good at keeping secrets.

“Professor McGonagall told me,” Lito said simply. He felt like explaining all his thoughts about the Second Wizarding War would be silly, since Dani, surely, already knew how deadly magic could be.

“I’ve always wondered how that worked!” Dani beamed. She was looking at him again, but this time she had one hand over the other on her lap, her fingers drumming against her leg every few seconds. “I mean, if your parents couldn’t use magic, how’d you find Diagon Alley?”

“Well, Professor McGonagall went to my house on the 7th, and she explained everything, and she turned into a cat—”

“Ooh!” Dani looked impressed. “I didn’t know she’s an Animagus!”

“A what?”

“An Animagus. She can transform into an animal. So her animal form’s a cat, ‘cause you can’t pick which animal you get to be, it’s supposed to be based on your personality and inner strength and whatever.”

Lito stared at her, wide-eyed. Just how much was he missing out on?

“What else happened?” Dani prompted.

“So she turned into a cat,” Lito continued, his voice lower now. It didn’t seem all that impressive that he had this one story about magic, when Dani, surely, would’ve seen so much more in her life. “She proved she wasn’t just scamming us. And she explained that this sometimes happens, this… well, me being the only wizard in my family. She took us to Diagon Alley and showed us where everything was, and then she turned and disappeared from thin air.”

“Apparated,” Dani corrected. “You mean she Apparated.”

Lito groaned, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “I’m gonna fail at this school, aren’t I?”

She pursed her lips for a second, thinking. It made Lito feel like he was being investigated by the police. He felt like it was impossible to keep anything hidden under her gaze.

“Take out your wand,” she decided.

“Why?”

Lito was already opening his bag, though, reaching for the fine handle and pulling the wand out. He tucked María’s letter into the side pocket. If Dani saw it, she didn’t ask.

“Your wand worked for you before in Ollivander’s, didn’t it?”

“Mr. Ollivander said it chose me,” Lito recalled.

“Mine, too.”

She leaned forward and pulled her own wand out of the shaft of her right boot. They compared their wands side-by-side, marveling at how different they looked. Dani’s wand was about three inches shorter than his, and hers was medium brown while his was black. There were also swirls carved into her wand’s handle. They untangled into curved lines, climbing upwards until they reached the middle of the wand and gradually faded from there.

“So you think you’re behind ‘cause I came from a magical family,” she said. “Because I know how I’m supposed to cast a spell. I know what magic can and can’t do. That’s all true. But knowing all that isn’t the same as learning to control your own powers, and I’ve only had a day to practice _that_.”

Before Lito could ask why, they heard a knock on their compartment door. Lito looked through the window and saw a dark-haired older boy glaring at Dani. Dani swallowed hard when she saw him, but stood up and blocked her body against the doorframe, opening the door by only an inch.

“We got a compartment. Come over,” the boy demanded. He was standing close enough, he could easily be whispering these words into Dani’s ear.

His English sounded American like Dani’s. His voice, though, was much deeper than Lito’s, on the verge of changing. It made him sound more intimidating than it ought to be. By the way Dani was fidgeting with the hem of her skirt, it didn’t seem like she welcomed the idea of hanging out with the older boy, either.

“No thanks, Joaquín, we’re good,” Dani said.

Joaquín looked past Dani’s shoulder at Lito, scowling distastefully at his muggle jeans and t-shirt. “Who’s this?”

“I–I’m Lito,” Lito mumbled.

Lito wondered if Joaquín had even heard him. If he did, he clearly didn’t care to acknowledge it. “Come on, Dani,” he tried again.

Dani crossed her arms, looking at Lito, then back at the unfriendly boy. “I’m staying here.”

“Suit yourself.” Joaquín turned away, slamming the door shut before Dani could do it herself. He’d slammed it so hard that the door popped back open, sliding ajar so Lito had a view of Joaquín walking away.

“You know him?” Lito asked, staring at Joaquín’s retreating form. Even from this distance, Joaquín looked like one of those bullies who was always readying himself for a fight. Lito had never been picked on by bullies, but he wondered if the circumstance would change if he went to a school where he knew nothing, and people like Dani knew everything.

“He’s a family friend,” Dani explained. “Anyway, I was saying, we’re technically not supposed to buy a wand ‘till we turn eleven. And my birthday was yesterday. Our Hogwarts letters came a bit earlier this year though.”

“Really?”

Dani nodded. “Guess they wanted everyone to be ready ahead of time, what with the school reopening and all. So I got my wand early, except my dad locked it away and didn’t give it to me ‘till yesterday.”

“Is he strict?”

“My dad? That’s… one way to describe him.” Dani chuckled. She looked away again. “Anyway, yeah. My birthday was literally the day before we start school. Pretty close call, huh? I could’ve had to stay home another year.”

“Pretty close,” Lito agreed. “My birthday’s on August 8th.”

“Oh. Not much earlier, then. Have you tried practicing?”

“Not really.”

“I know a simple charm we can start with.” Dani waved her wand in the air in a deliberate motion without uttering anything. “The movement looks like this.” She traced the shape again, slowly. An arc that curved upwards, followed by one that curved downwards, followed a small, downward flick. “And you’re supposed to say _Wingardium Leviosa_.”

“What does the spell do do?”

Dani took off her bracelet and held it in her left palm. With her right hand, she pointed the tip of the wand at the bracelet and said the spell as she guided her wand into the movement she’d just shown him. The bracelet took a few seconds tossing and turning before it hovered an inch above her hand, vibrating intensely.

“It’s supposed to levitate things. I can kind of do it, but I’m gonna need way more practice. If you’re _really_ good, you can lift a whole person with this charm.”

He laughed. “Really?”

“Eventually.” She let go of the spell. “Now, you try.”

It took Lito three hours to get Dani’s bracelet to leave her palm, but it stayed, supported by thin air, for five seconds. Dani whooped in glee. Lito, on the other hand, was grinning, embarrassed that he took so long to get it, but also relieved.

“Being muggle-born doesn’t mean you’re destined to fail,” Dani told him. “That’s the whole point of going to school. None of us know how to control the powers we were born with. We’re all starting from ground zero. You’re just gonna have to trust yourself.”

“Easier said than done.”

“That’s true.” She leaned in closer with a conspiratorial smirk and whispered, “But between the two of us? It took Joaquín _a month_ to get that spell I just taught you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we have the main 8 all introduced. Whoo! Next up is the sorting, one of my favorite parts to write... so far :D
> 
> Thank you all so much for the love I've been getting on various platforms! I am a greedy gremlin who feeds on the love and anguish of my dear readers. For those of you who hadn't been spoiled by my endless rambling, have you got any predictions as to which houses these kids might end up in? What about the soon-to-be extended family, aka Hernando, Neets, Dani, and Felix? Let me know in the comments... If you dare. *Dun dun dunnnn.*
> 
> In terms of posting, I'm gonna try and hold myself to an "every other weekend" update schedule. I feel like it's the most reasonable timeframe, given that I CANNOT write short chapters, and I also have a beta and sensitivity reader. Shoutout to @greenmountaingirl and @Tximista once again while we're on the topic!
> 
> And I'm trying to get the rest of this story plotted, which is turning out to be a lot harder since it's part of a series. Just how much should I reveal? Hmm...


	3. 24-25 December, 1996

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will, eight years old, spends Christmas Eve away from his dad. Aurors attempt to track down a missing girl as Voldemort is inflicting terror upon the country once more.

**24 December, 1996**

**_Will._ **

Christmas Eve dinner was a quiet affair, so quiet Will could hear the relentless ticking of the grandfather clock. The old clock was placed in one corner of the kitchen, shielding the hastily-patched hole on the wall dad had punched years ago. Before that, it had belonged in the family room next to the fireplace where Aurors Floo’d in at all hours, their robes steaming with remnants of green smoke.

Will tried to ignore the clock’s endless ticking as he cut into his leftover turkey, remainders of the lunch he’d eaten at the Morales’ house earlier. It was good. Mouth-watering, even. Diego’s mom Marcia had a way with food. If Will closed his eyes, he could almost imagine this was something he and dad made together.

Christmas had never been worthy of extensive preparation when one lived with an Auror. The holiday season was high time for criminals, especially now that You-Know-Who was back. The Ministry had increased security around the perimeters of larger neighborhoods where magical citizens resided. It seemed counter-intuitive to Will that they were investing so much to protect families who could defend themselves when You-Know-Who’s rage was directed at muggles and muggle-borns.

“Are you leaving again tonight, dad?” Will asked, breaking the silence. He glanced up from his plate, catching his dad’s eyes.

“Maybe.” Michael gave him a serious look and stabbed into a piece of carrot, his fork scraping against the porcelain dish. “We’re on standby. Might be gone after you’re asleep. I’ve talked to Marcia. You’ll stay at her house tonight with Diego ‘till I come back.”

_Again_ , Will finished in his head. _Just like every year._ He knew better than to say it out loud.

Outside, a group of muggle children was singing Christmas carols, the bells in their hands ringing as they made their way down the street, strolling right past the Gorskis’ home without a pause. The house was charmed to appear deserted from the outside, complete with dilapidated walls and “for sale” signs around the premises in case someone considered breaking in.

Soon the carolers were too far to be heard, and Will and his dad went back to silence. But the silence didn’t last. As Will dug into the last of his mashed potatoes, a silvery creature appeared over the dining table, hovering eerily in the air. A patronus.

_Gorski. Lead on Patrell,_ the patronus said. It was a mink, and its voice belonged to Auror Sandoval. _Ten minutes ago. South Bank, across from Parliament. Escorted by a cloaked wizard._

“Fuck,” his dad muttered.

Michael stood, the legs of his chair scraping against the ground. Will cringed at the noise and pushed his half-finished dish away, following his father into the family room. Their fur-lined cloaks hung on the rack by the fireplace at the ready. Will removed both, handing the larger one to his father. He opened his mouth to ask when his dad might be back but closed it again. The best answer he’d get was _I don’t know_.

“Alright.” Will’s dad turned to face him, crouching down to look him in the eye. “You first. Remember the address?”

“Number Twenty-Five-and-a-Third, Belsize Park, Hampstead,” Will recited. He knew Diego’s address better than his own, having Floo’d there nearly every day for years, though never alone. “Aren’t you dropping me off?”

They heard a rumble from the chimney. Dust rained down into the fireplace. Michael pushed Will behind himself and readied his wand as their visitor landed gracefully on both feet. The visitor hadn’t set off the Caterwauling Charm, but Michael had always advised caution. To Will’s relief, the visitor revealed himself to be Dan, Diego’s father.

With a swift leap, Michael pinned Dan against the wall with his elbow and pointed his wand at his throat. “What was the outcome of our Quidditch Cup Championship at the end of sixth year?”

“Us against Ravenclaw. Goldstein fired a killer shot with his Bludger. Broke the tail clean off my broom,” Dan answered without missing a beat, unfazed by the surprise attack from his partner. “I nearly fell to my death while bloody Harley caught the Snitch. We lost by an embarrassing twenty to one-hundred-and-sixty.”

Michael nodded and released his partner. “Heard from Sandoval?”

“South Bank,” Dan confirmed. Dan turned to Will and patted him on the shoulder. “Happy Christmas Eve, Will. We’ll be back tomorrow.”

_We’ll be back._ That’s what grown-ups always said before they left their children behind, even if they knew it was one of those things you couldn’t promise.

Will gave Dan a polite nod and headed for the fireplace. The bowl of Floo Powder sat on the mantelpiece, filled and ready to use. He pinched a handful and stepped inside on top of the dried firewood, swallowing back a cough at the scent of smoke.

“Be careful,” Will said. “Both of you.”

“Always am,” Michael promised.

Will dropped his handful of Floo Powder underneath his feet and saw the green flame engulf him. “Number Twenty-Five-and-a-Third, Belsize Park, Hampstead.”

His dad and Dan walked out the back door to get outside the Apparition Wards. Will was sucked into a tight space, the stark black in-between place between every house’s chimneys every magical person knew about, but no-one could describe. He bid his dad and Dan good luck, silently wishing this was the last Christmas he had to spend away from his family.

~*~

**25 December, 1996**

Will woke the next morning to the smell of gingerbread cookies wafting through the Morales’ house. It had taken him hours to fall asleep in the lower bunk bed while Diego snored away on top, mumbling about Excalibur in his sleep. By the time Will was taken over by exhaustion, the sky was already growing into a lighter blue.

Diego was still sound asleep when Will tiptoed out of the room, the door already propped open from the night before. Downstairs, he found Diego’s mom frowning over the Daily Prophet laid out in front of her, nursing a cup of coffee. She startled when he knocked on the doorframe to the kitchen.

“Oh, Will!” Marcia beamed immediately upon seeing him, her face brightening despite the dark circles around her eyes. “Good morning, dear! Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Marcia,” Will said, helping himself to the heaping plates of bacon and eggs, eyeing the Christmas cookies still cooling off in the tray. Two mugs of spiced Mexican hot chocolate sat waiting on the counter by the food, radiating warmth from the self-heating charm placed on the ceramic.

“Slept alright last night?”

“I did,” Will sat across from Marcia. He looked her in the eye to tell her he was fine, completing his lie with a smile. “Thank you for letting me stay.”

“You’re always welcome here, Will.”

They let the room fall back into silence save for the rustling of the paper as Marcia scanned the news page after page. She stifled a yawn, taking large swigs of her coffee. Will wondered if she’d heard him tossing and turning last night while she did the same.

It was halfway through breakfast when Marcia spoke again, watching Will sneak furtive glances at the window to the backyard. “I’m sure they’ll be back before lunch.”

“I know.”

After Diego joined them downstairs an hour later, they opened presents under the tree. Will’s dad had evidently placed all his gifts at the Morales’ days before. The Sneakoscope Will had received from his dad remained quiet as he pulled it out of the wrappers and removed the label. He slipped it into the pocket of his cloak, hoping the alarm would never go off when his friends were near. Hoping he’d never have to question who he could trust.

For the rest of the morning, Will allowed Diego to distract him with the Comet 260 he’d gotten from his parents, a basic broomstick with none of the dangerous functionalities of the world-famous Firebolt. They took turns flying in the backyard, tossing an old Quaffle back and forth as the other person ran alongside the rider. As Marcia had predicted, Michael and Dan Apparated across the field from Diego’s backyard at eleven, announcing their presence with two loud pops. Lunch was already baking in the oven.

Diego hopped down from the broom to run over and greet them while Will stayed behind, catching the hovering broom in the air one-handed before it could fly off on its own. Will let out a sigh of relief. He knew dad was a good Auror, but the Death Eaters were getting stronger, too. There was no telling if one day he might not come back.

***

That night, Will situated himself on the ottoman across from his dad’s chair by the roaring fire. “Dad,” he asked. “Who were you chasing last night with Dan? Who’s Patrell?”

“That’s Auror business,” Michael said without looking up, flipping to a new page in his book. It looked like an old copy with worn edges and a broken spine. Will squinted, making out the title of the book under the dim candlelight around the room. _Confronting the Faceless_. “Believe me, the less you know ‘bout all that, the better.”

Will crossed his arms. “I just wanna know if there’s another bad bloke around."

“Alright. Look.” Michael paused. “Patrell, she… She’s not a Death Eater. She’s just a girl. We were looking for her. Still are. That’s all I’ll tell ya.”

That was a pretty decent answer. Much more details than what Will typically got. “You think You-Know-Who may have taken her?”

“We reckon it’d be a simpler explanation than most,” Michael explained. He put the book down on his lap and looked Will in the eye. “And call him Voldemort, son.”

“No one else does.”

“Some of us do. Not many,” Will’s dad agreed. “Me and Dan. Dumbledore. A few others.”

“Why do you call him that?”

“Voldemort?” Michael tutted his tongue and looked away. Will thought he may have tested his luck too much. Maybe this wasn’t the best time to ask.

He was about to leave his seat when his dad spoke again.

“Voldemort, he’s… he’s been around since before you were born. Since when I was a kid. Hell, I used to be paranoid like nobody’s business. Your mom and I—”

Michael paused at the mention of his late wife. Will hid his surprise. Mom hadn’t been brought into their conversations for months. The last time they’d spoken about her, dad was telling— _yelling at_ —Will to put her old record player away, back in the basement of the house where he’d found it and dug it out.

“Your mom and I thought you didn’t have to grow up afraid like we were,” Michael continued, his voice quieter now. “And things were okay for a bit. Voldemort disappeared thanks to Potter, but he’s back now. This time we gotta end him for good. We can’t do that if we shit our pants at the sound of his name.”

Will nodded.

“Call him Voldemort. That’s all he is, and that’s all he deserves to be.”

“Voldemort,” Will mumbled, testing it out. The sound of the name left a strange feeling in his chest. He decided he would not run away from it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Just to note. This will be the first backstory out of EIGHT in this entire first volume. (The number of backstory segments are not planned that way to coincide with the number 8 and its significance in the show. Not at all. Why would you think that?) Four for Will, four for Capheus. The others will get their turn! (Volume II has Wolfgang and Riley's backstories :D)
> 
> * * *
> 
> I'm sure you were all hoping for one of my typical long chapters. BUT it's tax season and generally an annoying time of year for me, a newly-emerged not-quite-adult with organizational issues. As I try to put some semblance of order back into my life, my creativity is unfortunately stifled and postponed. 
> 
> However, thanks to the storytelling structure I have chosen for this story, with every two long chapter, comes a little bonus slice of backstory that adds some plot and intrigue and general feels. I hope. And this also means that should life ever get busy again, I have smaller pieces I can motivate myself to work on to post and hold you all over for another week. A failsafe, if you will, to make sure I'm not forgotten. 
> 
> As always, I am so, so grateful for all the love you've all given me here and on tumblr. I'm always happy to hear from you!
> 
> P.S. The chapter count has been updated to reflect my final narrative choice. When I first posted, I totally forgot to take backstories into account, even though this had been planned ages ago. Typical.
> 
> **UPDATE AS OF APRIL 2019: Due to the Magicians season 4 finale making me feel lots of pain I will be taking a short break, 1-2 months I estimate, from this fic in order to write a short fix-it multichapter for that fandom. Thank you all so much for bearing with me <3 - Sas**


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